Chapter Ten
Arthur was quiet on the way back from the club. It was pretty late and the subway was nearly deserted. Sam watched him subtly with curious eyes. Arthur had something on his mind. Sam wasn't sure he should pry, but before he could decide, Arthur turned to him.
"Did you write that song about me?" he asked quietly.
Sam looked at the floor. He didn't know. He had no idea who Curt Wild had written that song about. He had just made up his mind to hedge the question when the subway screeched to a stop, nearly tumbling them from their seats.
Another man entered, hooded, and Sam immediately felt his skin begin to tingle. There was something off about that man. He stood close, but not intrusively so, with his hands tucked in his pockets.
Arthur was speaking again; Sam listened, keeping an eye on the man. "Look, I need to know what you feel… about us. For nine years, I thought you forgot me. And I was sure about it earlier. Now… I'm back to not knowing. So if you do, and that song is about me… Please, tell me." Arthur stared at Sam with pleading eyes.
Before Sam could reply, the man was moving, switchblade out, coming for them. "Fags," he muttered, going for Arthur's throat.
Sam moved swiftly, disarming the thug. They fought, but it was over quickly. The man wasn't a trained killer; he was a sloppy punk that Tommy had hired to keep it simple and cheap.
The subway stopped again momentarily; the two men hurried from the car, Arthur shaking. They made it quickly back to Arthur's and called the police, reporting the attack. There was nothing to connect it with Tommy though.
Arthur was worn out after the long day, and fell asleep almost immediately after he sat down on the couch. Sam carefully moved the younger man so he was laying on the couch and covered him up. He sat on one of the barstools, watching Arthur. After a few minutes, he decided it was good the young man was asleep. Few questions for him to answer- questions that only Curt knew the answer to.
*
Al came back hours after their last talk. Curt was waiting patiently for his return, uncharacteristically still, sitting cross legged on the bed. When Al walked into the room, Curt looked at him with Sam's eyes and said, "Arthur's alright."
It wasn't a question, but Al nodded anyway. The sentence was said with perfect assurance. Not trust, for Curt hated being 'held prisoner' as he'd put it in his first few minutes in the waiting room. But Curt knew Arthur was alive as surely as he did.
Curt smiled. "Keep it that way. I don't want him dying before I can tell him I didn't forget. I don't want him dying at all."
"He won't," Al said, and wished he felt as sure as he strove to sound.
*
The next morning both men were up early; Arthur before Sam, since he still had the final touches to put on his story. He finished by seven, having obliterated all mention of Curt that wasn't directly related to Brian. When Sam woke, Arthur had breakfast ready- breakfast that was only Cheerios with milk, but it was something.
They headed out a bit later, walking side by side. The Herald wasn't too far from Arthur's apartment- a fifteen minute walk at a brisk pace. They made it in twenty and headed up the stairs.
Sam had been wary when the attempt on Arthur's life was carried out by a street punk. He had been even more so when they had walked safely to the Herald building. So he expected the shooter to drive by at exactly the moment Arthur started in the glass doors.
Sam pushed him down quickly as the shots rang out, shattering the door. He covered Arthur, leaving their bodies flush against each other. Arthur stared into his eyes, then moved his lips up the inch needed to turn the stare into a kiss.
Sam didn't have time to respond or reject the kiss; Arthur broke it, and Sam got off of him quickly. Arthur had a determined look in his eyes.
"I have a story to deliver," he said and walked through the remains of the door.
Lou wasn't due in till ten, and it was barely nine. Arthur settled for taking the article to Lou's mail bin, knowing his boss would receive it. Arthur sighed and said sarcastically, "I'm almost sorry to ruin *Tommy's* life like this." Then with a flourish, Arthur dropped the article into Lou's bin. He turned back to Sam and grinned.
Sam smiled back at the journalist, then got ready to leap out, ready to turn Curt over to a man that cared deeply about him, ready to change more lives for the better.
Except the enveloping white light and flying-through-space feeling never came.
Arthur was quiet on the way back from the club. It was pretty late and the subway was nearly deserted. Sam watched him subtly with curious eyes. Arthur had something on his mind. Sam wasn't sure he should pry, but before he could decide, Arthur turned to him.
"Did you write that song about me?" he asked quietly.
Sam looked at the floor. He didn't know. He had no idea who Curt Wild had written that song about. He had just made up his mind to hedge the question when the subway screeched to a stop, nearly tumbling them from their seats.
Another man entered, hooded, and Sam immediately felt his skin begin to tingle. There was something off about that man. He stood close, but not intrusively so, with his hands tucked in his pockets.
Arthur was speaking again; Sam listened, keeping an eye on the man. "Look, I need to know what you feel… about us. For nine years, I thought you forgot me. And I was sure about it earlier. Now… I'm back to not knowing. So if you do, and that song is about me… Please, tell me." Arthur stared at Sam with pleading eyes.
Before Sam could reply, the man was moving, switchblade out, coming for them. "Fags," he muttered, going for Arthur's throat.
Sam moved swiftly, disarming the thug. They fought, but it was over quickly. The man wasn't a trained killer; he was a sloppy punk that Tommy had hired to keep it simple and cheap.
The subway stopped again momentarily; the two men hurried from the car, Arthur shaking. They made it quickly back to Arthur's and called the police, reporting the attack. There was nothing to connect it with Tommy though.
Arthur was worn out after the long day, and fell asleep almost immediately after he sat down on the couch. Sam carefully moved the younger man so he was laying on the couch and covered him up. He sat on one of the barstools, watching Arthur. After a few minutes, he decided it was good the young man was asleep. Few questions for him to answer- questions that only Curt knew the answer to.
*
Al came back hours after their last talk. Curt was waiting patiently for his return, uncharacteristically still, sitting cross legged on the bed. When Al walked into the room, Curt looked at him with Sam's eyes and said, "Arthur's alright."
It wasn't a question, but Al nodded anyway. The sentence was said with perfect assurance. Not trust, for Curt hated being 'held prisoner' as he'd put it in his first few minutes in the waiting room. But Curt knew Arthur was alive as surely as he did.
Curt smiled. "Keep it that way. I don't want him dying before I can tell him I didn't forget. I don't want him dying at all."
"He won't," Al said, and wished he felt as sure as he strove to sound.
*
The next morning both men were up early; Arthur before Sam, since he still had the final touches to put on his story. He finished by seven, having obliterated all mention of Curt that wasn't directly related to Brian. When Sam woke, Arthur had breakfast ready- breakfast that was only Cheerios with milk, but it was something.
They headed out a bit later, walking side by side. The Herald wasn't too far from Arthur's apartment- a fifteen minute walk at a brisk pace. They made it in twenty and headed up the stairs.
Sam had been wary when the attempt on Arthur's life was carried out by a street punk. He had been even more so when they had walked safely to the Herald building. So he expected the shooter to drive by at exactly the moment Arthur started in the glass doors.
Sam pushed him down quickly as the shots rang out, shattering the door. He covered Arthur, leaving their bodies flush against each other. Arthur stared into his eyes, then moved his lips up the inch needed to turn the stare into a kiss.
Sam didn't have time to respond or reject the kiss; Arthur broke it, and Sam got off of him quickly. Arthur had a determined look in his eyes.
"I have a story to deliver," he said and walked through the remains of the door.
Lou wasn't due in till ten, and it was barely nine. Arthur settled for taking the article to Lou's mail bin, knowing his boss would receive it. Arthur sighed and said sarcastically, "I'm almost sorry to ruin *Tommy's* life like this." Then with a flourish, Arthur dropped the article into Lou's bin. He turned back to Sam and grinned.
Sam smiled back at the journalist, then got ready to leap out, ready to turn Curt over to a man that cared deeply about him, ready to change more lives for the better.
Except the enveloping white light and flying-through-space feeling never came.